The Mortuary Scandal
by TheNevadaNerd
Summary: Joan Watson is a foreign exchange student in London. Her first night she spent in the hospital with a stomach bug, she witnessed what she feared to be murder. Now the scene haunts her. Not to mention everyone in her foreign family seems crazy in some way. But one son takes interest in what she saw. A thrilling murder mystery is in store. well that was cheesy, i promise it's good
1. Chapter 1

Author Note!

Okay this is my first time posting any fanfiction and also I'm doing a crossover of two shows (Sherlock/Elementary), so please give me lots of feedback on characters and all sorts of things! (Constructive please, unnecessary rudeness is ill advised.) The story is told in various POV's (mostly Joan's.)

-Kirsten

VICTIM'S POINT OF VEIW

My head is pounding and my body aches. My throat burns and feels like sandpaper. Each breath is hot and dry. Off in the distance I can hear muffled, echoed voices and the sound of an intercom. Then there's the slow beep of the heart rate monitor. My own beat is the rhythm of a slow bass drum.

I attempt to move, maybe find water or find a nurse, because I am obviously in some sort of hospital. I feel very dizzy trying to move and nausea sweeps over my frame.

The mumbled voices are closer, just outside the dark entry way. It's difficult to focus on it for long, so I lay back. Pounding footsteps come close, making siren-like squeaks on the linoleum. A nurse appears and approaches slowly. I can barely lift my heavy eyelids. He has bushy brown hair and welcoming brown eyes, he greets me with a grin.

"W, where…. am…I,I…..'shhh'" He interrupts. He puts a plastic glove covered finger over my parched lips. I'm still trying to figure out why I'm even here. I try to talk, but he covers my mouth, so I give up.

He moves swiftly to the counter across from my table-like bed.

I see him filling a syringe with a clear liquid. He gives me a gentle reassuring smile as he throws out the little empty container.

He moves with great care as he lifts my pale and bare left arm. He gingerly positions my arm and syringe.

The tiny prickle sends goose bumps all over. My arm grows numb and chilled. My heart flutters, like a scared rabbit. My already blurry vision becomes more dark and fuzzy.

"Goodnight darling." He whispers, sounding a long way away. My heart finally thuds like a hammer. My blood runs cold. And a great looming shadow clouds over my mind and eyes. My lungs turn to stone with lack of breath and rattle against my ribs like a caged animal. But my heart stopped, and I was gone without a gasp.

…..

Just down the hall

JOAN'S POINT OF VEIW

I can't believe this! Just two days into my foreign exchange trip to London, I'm sick in the hospital with stomach problems. I couldn't even stay one night with my exchange family. The doctor said it's probably stress from the journey and being in a different country. You have to be kidding me; I'm American from the US, not much difference.

I can't sleep at all so I'm sitting up in this dreary, gloomy hospital bed. It must be at least midnight now. And I can hear people in the hall and the sound of a squeaky gurney being wheeled past. I slump down in the itchy sheets and watch the hall. I could see a sheet covered gurney being wheeled hastily by. The form of an adolescent body under the white cloth, and a snow-white arm slumped over the side.

The gurney stopped and a bushy-haired nurse pushed it under the cloth. He gave me an awkward stare, then winked and pressed his finger to his lips and continued on.

My heart pounded. Something about the situation made me uneasy and sick. I wanted desperately to see the person under the sheet.

My curiosity got the better of me and I slipped out of bed onto the cold floor and tip toed down the hall, a draft, chilling me through the thin cloth of the hospital gown.

I followed the noise to an examination room. The nurse and an older man were looking at the body's tranquil looking face. She had short brown hair and perfect pink lips that were losing color. She had died recently. They covered up her face and headed towards me. I got up swiftly and rushed back to my room. My feet scuttling across the ground to my bed were I hid beneath the blanket, shaking. I heard them walk past, talking jokingly. A few possibilities passed through my mind.

Murder, being one.

...

I could barely sleep, it was both the body and the chilling draft that kept me up. The grey and cold morning finally did arrive with the sound of a nurse checking my unused bedpan. She greeted me with a tired half smile. Her faded blonde hair done up in a hasty bun that made her look worn out.

She asked me politely, if I needed help getting dressed. I told her I was fine and proceeded to clear my mind of the night before and prepared myself to meet my host family, though it would be hours before they would come.

Holmes was the name of the family. I was to meet one of them in the lobby. Another nurse helped bring down my two bulky suitcases my mother insisted I take. The nurse told me to wait here while Mr. Holmes discharged me. While I sat surrounded by crying children and worn out moms, I kept my eye out for the brown haired nurse from last night, but non fit the picture.

My vision was obscured by a tall and slender man with graying brown hair and tired greenish blue eyes. He was dressed finely, almost like a lawyer or doctor of some sort. His wedding band was visibly worn and scratched.

"Miss Watson, I presume." He said with a strong and attentive voice.

I nodded as I reached to grab my luggage, but he grabbed my largest bag before I could. He gave me a small smile as helped me up. I didn't need his help, but I thought it best to be polite and take the offer.

Outside a black and glossy car with a driver waited for us. The elderly driver gave me a welcoming wink as he held open the door. I was hit by the distinct smell of leather and faint perfume.

Thus the ride began. Mr. Holmes and I sat in the back. I scrunched myself up the door, because I felt a bit shy for some reason, though I am naturally quiet.

The ride wasn't long, but it felt like ages. We reached a large, white townhouse. The only difference between the Holmes house and the rest on the block was that instead of a charming fence and latch gate, the Holmes had a black, caste-iron gate with a lock. On the opening gate was an iron, "H." The walk way was made of dark grey stone and was slightly damp.

Mr. Holmes walked ahead, while the driver carried in the bags. The entry way of the house was like any other with a dark wood staircase. I followed the driver up the stairs to a long corridor. I noticed steps leading up to a third level, so I made a mental note of it. We passed a couple dark cherry doors to the final door at the end. The guest room or my temporary room. Inside was a dark oak four post bed with a black with light purple trim bedspread and black sheet. The walls were painted a dark violet, nearly black. There was also a music stand, a canvas easel (with oil paints), a chest of mahogany drawers, and a vanity. My nice dress shoes clacked on the dark wood floors.

"A maid is downstairs if you be needin' anything, ma'am." The driver said before creeping out.

I was left alone in a ghostly quiet room. The pale grey light from the cloudy sky cast a gloomy feel to it all. Downstairs I could hear faint opera music.

I quietly crept down and was greeted by Mr. Holmes.

"Ah, Miss Watson come meet my… wife." He paused. I followed him around the corner to a large and glamorous kitchen with black marble countertops and mahogany cabinets. All the appliances were new looking. I saw a woman, around her 50's, making a kettle of tea, and then I saw Mrs. Holmes.

She had curly dark brunette hair, that was pulled up and some loose curls remained. She had striking blue eyes that seemed to change colors and prominent cheek bones that gave her more appeal. Her lips were perfectly shaped; they reminded me of the dead girl still lingering in my mind. Hers were painted a deep crimson though.

"You must be Joan." She smiled. Her voice was like water and it drew you in as such. She stood to greet me. She wore a chain of black pearls which complimented her porcelain skin and a silky red blouse. She had a thin and tall figure as well.

"We were supposed to get you two years ago, when my little Mycroft signed up, but we were put in waiting for a while, but now look you've arrived like a late package." She smirked.

"Tea?" The older maid offered.

"For our guest, Lydia." Mrs. Holmes said.

"How's your stomach, we heard you had some problems." She asked letting me take a seat across from her.

"Fine… How old is Mycroft." I said, enquiring to my student ambassador I was assigned.

"18, by the way I'm Mrs. Holmes, but please call me Stella." She said shaking my hand.

"18? But I'm only 16." I choked on the hot Chamomile.

"Oh don't worry, my other son is 16 too, but he's not… well easy to get to know. " She said flawlessly sipping the tea.

"So tell me, Joan why did you sign up for the program?" She asked.

"College credit." I said. "I want to become a surgeon and medical school is pricey."

"Oh, very nice." She said. "When I was your age I wanted to become an actress, now look at me. I'm a very popular theatre actor. So I'm happy to see you willing to do anything to get something."

"Thank you," I sputtered.

It made sense that she was an actress, there was something very deceptive about her uncanny charm.

Soon I heard argument outside coming up the walk. The front door gasped open revealing two tall boys having a loud discussion. The taller one stopped the other with his arm.

"Oh, shut up Sherlock, our student is here." Said the tall one with soft looking brown hair and a cherub face with a pleasant smile.

Sherlock gave him an icy glare and stomped up the steps, dragging his leather messenger bag.

"Good to see you to, Sherry." Said Mrs. Holmes sarcastically and loud enough for her pestilent son to hear. Her reply was a slamming of a third story door.

The tall boy, obviously Mycroft Holmes, swaggered up me and held out a hand for a posh handshake.

"Ah, Miss Watson, we've been waiting so long, I'm afraid I've outgrown you." He joked.

I nodded with an obligatory chuckle. I focused on his perfectly pressed school uniform; navy blue blazer, a red tie, white shirt, and black dress pants.

I shuddered thinking about the private school I once attended because my mom thought it would strengthen my math and science skills. But all I met was endless bullies.

The crest on the blazer indicated it was private and costly, but the program was paying, so I had no need to worry.

"Mother, I was not expecting you." Said Mycroft; a bit disdainfully.

"Obviously, I took it off notice to meet our guest." She pursed, taking another sip of tea. Her lips leaving a red stain on the china.

"It will be so nice having another woman in this house." She said. "Isn't that right, Edward?" She said as Mr. Holmes shuffled past carrying large sums of books and papers to an office past the kitchen.

"Yes darling." he whispered.

To me, Mrs. Stella Homes was the leader of the household, but I was distracted by sounds upstairs, I wanted to go up and talk to the silent boy.

"Well, dinner is in an hour, so run along." Said Stella as if she was talking to a small child. Mycroft sighed and rolled up the stairs.

"You may stay, Joan, if you wish." She looked to me with piercing eyes.

"No, I think I might rest a bit, you know, still a bit under the weather." I lied.

"Well alright then, see you soon. I will be in the parlor if you want to chat. I'm ever so lonely " She pouted as I left awkwardly.

I ventured up stairs going past Mycroft's room. I saw him slumped over a pile of homework. I followed the sound of water running in the bathroom nearest to my room. Through the crack of the door I saw Sherlock splashing his face with water. He turned off the faucet and proceeded to apply cover-up on a bruise on his chin. He then turned to leave the bathroom, so moved around the corner away from the door.

"I saw you." Were his first words to me, his voice was quiet and lingering. I first noticed his glittering blue eyes, like his mother's, fixed on me. In fact much of his face resembled her: fair porcelain skin, dark hair, prominent cheekbones, and defined lips.

"I'm sorry, I was only… well curious in you I suppose. Mycroft doesn't seem like 'my type'."

"He's no one's type." He replied. "Is something wrong, you look uneasy, not that I care but I'm the only one who will take notice." He said, his voice unfeeling, as he moved closer to study my face.

"Nothing is wrong." I spat, looking away. I was trying to keep the image of the girl out of my mind.

"Liar." He whispered as he brushed past me.

"Let me know, when you're ready to talk, who knows you might actually be interesting." He smirked just before he bounded up to the third floor.

I went and stood at the bottom of the steps. I debated if I dare venture up.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note- Hey, thanks for the fab feedback on the first chapter. I would have had this up sooner, but with finals, I've been trying to study. Plus I got a major case of writers block. Thanks once again. It's great writing this. Enjoy!

-Kirsten

Disclaimer- not mine

JOAN'S POV

I put my right foot forward on the first step. It gave a small creak in protest, but I slowly and quietly made my way up the narrow stairway.

The top floor was dimly lit with a small hallway. Two doors, one on each side. The one on the left was visibly newer than the other and it was cracked open.

I crept over, nearly tripping on the bunched up rug. I pushed the door open carefully.

Inside, Sherlock was busy over a makeshift laboratory set near the right side window. The room itself was reasonably sized with a tilted ceiling and a single light bulb hanging down the middle. Of course there were various lamps. The most striking thing about the room was the feeling of organized clutter. There was a tack board covered in newspaper clippings and photos. A good majority of them had something to do with a boy named Carl Powers, who tragically drown in a pool.

The lab table was however, a grimy mess. Petri dishes and soiled microscope slides stood in stacks and on the window seal there various dead and living, overgrown plants. Lastly all assortments of books scattered the room. All together it was a mess.

"So you decided to join me?" He said, turning to me, his eyes still unfeeling and cold.

"Well, I just felt we should get to know each other, maybe be friends?" I panicked. I didn't want to tell him about the girl.

"I don't have friends and I don't need them either." He snapped, turning back to the microscope. "Now tell me what you actually wanted to say, liar." He growled.

I cleared my throat. "I saw something. Something I don't think I was supposed to see. Something terrible."

"Get on with it; I'm already losing interest in you." He said, finally looking at me.

I felt a rage build up inside me.

"Listen hear, jerk, and listen well. What I saw was most definitely murder of some sort. They killed that girl. She didn't just die on her own." I said, nearly yelling. I slammed my foot down.

His eyes focused on me.

"There you go. Feel better." He soothed.

"You little smart-ass." I huffed under my breath.

"Now this girl you spoke of, what did she look like?" He said putting his fingers together under his chin in a contemplating matter.

"She had short dark brown hair, fair skin, and perfect pink lips, which are probably white by now." I said, replaying the image in my head over and over again.

"Anything else, eye color or height maybe?" He asked, closing his eyes.

"No," I whispered.

"And the nurse?" He poked.

"Curly brown hair, black eyes, medium height, and ruddy skin." I said, concentrating.

"A nametag? Anything else?" He protested.

"No, I can't… no I don't remember." I said, closing my eyes trying to create a mental image.

"Don't try and remember. Though intriguing, it's probably nothing." He said, walking over to lay down on the surprisingly neat bed.

"What now?" I said demandingly.

"Oh nothing, I suppose. Run along, I have no use for you." He pursed.

I stood in shock of his frankness.

"You can't talk like that to me." I growled.

He simply opened one eye. "Who's stopping me?"

I fumed with white hot anger. He was such an arrogant ass. Before I could lose my temper, the maid, Lydia, called us for supper.

…

Dinner was quiet, too quiet. Only broken by Mrs. Holmes asking me about New York while Mr. Holmes and Mycroft pretended to be interested. Sherlock only studied his barely touched food. Their mother tried to make conversation with them as well, only getting a few words from Mycroft.

The dinner seemed like it would go on forever. Each movement was tense, like a ticking time bomb. But finally Mr. Holmes threw in the towel and retreated to his office and Mrs. Holmes went out into the back garden. Mycroft ruffled his hair in a fit of frustration.

"Sherlock, just eat, you idiot. If mum or dad notices you eating less and less they will worry and not hesitate to send you back." Growled Mycroft, as he stared down his younger brother, whose plate was still nearly full.

"I'm not worried about that now. Besides, I'm not even hungry." He huffed back, scuttling out of his chair and marching towards the stairs.

"But you never are!" Shouted Mycroft in a fit.

It seemed as much as Sherlock hated Mycroft, the more I thought Mycroft cared about him. I had really no clue what was going on, but something must have happened between them. Some sort of falling out.

I thought it best not to ask. Then I made my way to my room. Only stopping to pause at the bottom of the third floor stairs.

….

I awoke the next morning cold and groggy. The hours before I finally fell asleep were blurred and difficult to remember. My dreams were also fuzzy, but I did dream of the girl in the morgue.

Nearly half-asleep, I dressed in the school uniform the maid must have set up. It was simple enough: a navy blue blazer, white button blouse, red tie, and a gray pleated skirt. It fit well, but I hated it.

Downstairs and bowl of freshly prepared oatmeal waited. I didn't feel all too hungry, but I ate anyway because I knew I would be starving later. Mycroft was also in the kitchen, sipping either coffee or tea while eating a simple, plain English muffin.

Soon Sherlock was down, but he didn't even take one bite of his own bowl of oatmeal. He simply sat and read some text book. Mycroft slammed the book shut.

"Eat, you idiot." He snapped as he pulled away the book.

"WHY! I'm NOT hungry!" Sherlock growled.

"You think that brilliant mind of yours is going to last on nothing? Breakfast is brain power." Mycroft smirked as he pushed Sherlock's bowl towards him.

Sherlock begrudgingly woofed down two heaping spoons of oatmeal and washed out his dish.

"Happy?" He said as he stomped past Mycroft heading to the entry way.

"He can be so difficult sometimes." Sighed Mycroft. I nodded back.

….

The walk to school was silent. Sherlock also attempted to walk faster than Mycroft and I, and eventually he disappeared far ahead of us. The morning air was chilly and certainly disheartening. Once we got the building, Mycroft directed me to the main office to get my schedule and exchange student ID. The office ladies were sweet and also included a map of the campus and one of them walked me to my first class, Advanced Algebra Two. Normally I love math in the morning, because it's a good wake-up for the brain, but this class felt draining. I also noticed Sherlock in the back. It looked as though he solved every problem the teacher wrote on the board before the teacher could finish. I also noticed he would frequently raise his hand, but the teacher would never call on him.

Next came Honors English, and once again Sherlock was there. And he was in all my classes until lunch were I could spend time alone. I got out of the cafeteria quickly to avoid crowds and made my way to the soccer (football) field. I sat up at the top of the bleachers. It was cold and desolate, but it provided me with alone-time. I heard someone approach.

"Oh, um, is this spot taken?" Said a shy voice. I looked up and saw a girl (probably a freshman) standing with a small sack lunch. She had a somewhat awkward stance and she wouldn't look into my eyes.

"Uh, No. Go right ahead." I finally peeped.

"Oh good, I'm Molly, Molly Hooper. You?" She smiled as she dug into her food.

"Joan Watson." I replied.

"Oh! You're the foreign exchange student! Staying with the Holmes, right?" She exclaimed.

"Yes for about four months I will be." I said. My eyes drifted over to the far corner of the building. There I saw Sherlock and one other student and three non-students. The non-student were wearing quite loud and strange street clothes. I could see they were smoking. Sherlock didn't strike me to be the type to hang out with what my mother called "rift-raft."

"He's different, eh?" Said Molly breaking my thoughts.

"It seems so." I replied.

"Well he's always been different. Most people don't like him. Even more so now that he's back again." She trailed off.

"Wait, back again?" I turned to her.

"Well, according to the rumors, he was in some sort of rehabilitation."

"For what?"

"I don't know… drugs, maybe?" She squeaked.

Maybe that was the reason him and Mycroft never get along. Maybe Mycroft had something to do with it.

"Hey Molly!" Said someone bounding up the bleachers.

"Sally! Come join us." Said Molly, as some girl with the curliest hair I had ever seen came up to us.

"What are you talking about?" She smiled. She seemed polite.

"Sherlock Holmes." Said Molly stately.

Soon an ugly sneer appeared on Sally's face.

"Ugh, not that psycho again!" She whined as she tossed her hair back. "You could do soooo much better."

"Shut up, Sally. That crush is long gone." Said Molly sounding hurt, as she ran her fingers through her long brown hair.

"Whatever. Who's this lot then?" She said pointing at me.

"Joan Watson, the exchange student staying with Sherlock." Said Molly.

Before Sally could retort, someone else stepped from behind her.

"Did you say Sherlock Holmes?" She said quietly.

"I think he might help me find who killed my sister." She said.

TO BE CONTINUED!


End file.
